ir size,
the snap all out of them, the whites lost under the swollen lids. His
greeting, moreover, had lost its customary heartiness.

"You were out late, I hear," he grumbled, dropping into his chair. "I
didn't get in myself until two o'clock and feel like a boiled owl.
May have caught a little cold, but I think it was that champagne of
Duckworth's; always gives me a headache. Don't put any sugar and cream
in that coffee, Parkins--want it straight."

"Yes, sir," replied the flunky, moving toward the sideboard.

"And now, Jack, what did you do?" he continued, picking up his napkin.
"You and Garry made a night of it, didn't you? Some kind of an artist's
bat, wasn't it?"

"No, sir; Mr. Morris gave a dinner to his clerks, and--"

"Who's Morris?"

"Why, the great architect."

"Oh, that fellow! Yes, I know him, that is, I know who he is. Say the
rest. Parkins! didn't I tell you I didn't want any sugar or cream."

Parkins hadn't offered any. He had only forgotten to remove them from
the tray.

Jack kept straight on; these differences between the master and Parkins
were of daily occurrence.

"And, Uncle Arthur, I met the most wonderful gentleman I ever saw; he
looked just as if he had stepped out of an old frame, and yet he is down
in the Street every day and--"

"What firm?"

"No firm, he is--"

"Curbstone man, then?" Here Breen lifted the cup to his lips and as
quickly put it down. "Parkins!"

"Yes, sir," came the monotone.

"Why the devil can't I get my coffee hot?"

"Is it cold, sir?"--slight modulation, but still lifeless.

"IS IT COLD? Of course it's cold! Might have been standing in a morgue.
Take that down and have some fresh coffee sent up. Servants running
o'er each other and yet I can't get a--Go on, Jack! I didn't mean to
interrupt, but I'll clean the whole lot of 'em out of here if I don't
get better service."

"No, Uncle Arthur, he isn't a banker--isn't even a broker; he's only a
paying teller in a bank," continued Jack.

The older man turned his head and a look of surprise swept over his
round, fat face.

"Teller in a BANK?" he asked in an altered tone.

"Yes, the most charming, the most courteous old gentleman I have ever
met; I haven't seen anybody like him since I left home, and, just think,
he has promised to come and see me to-night."

The drooping lips straightened and a shrewd, searching glance shot from
Arthur Breen's eyes. There was a brain behind this sleepy face--as many